From Worker to Consumer. The Silent Shift that Redefined Prosperity

When did the worker slowly disappear from the center of our economic imagination?

Some shifts in society do not arrive with dramatic announcements or decisive turning points. They unfold quietly, revealing themselves in the most ordinary moments, sometimes through a passing remark in a conversation that initially appears routine. A few weeks ago I found myself in one such conversation. I was part of an industry meetup where the future of business was being discussed with great excitement. Artificial intelligence dominated the room. The discussion moved effortlessly from productivity gains to intelligent automation. From algorithmic decision making to the promise of digital acceleration. At one point someone summarized the direction of the industry with great confidence. The companies that will win, she said, will be the ones that become profitable the fastest by using artificial intelligence to reduce human dependency. The sentence seemed perfectly rational and visionary. Heads nodded around. After all, efficiency and profitability have long been accepted as the ultimate measures of success.

And yet something about that remark stayed with me long beyond the evening. Not because of what it celebrated, but because of what it quietly assumed. It assumed, almost casually, that the future of progress lies in how effectively we can remove the worker from the equation. And that thought led me to pause and reflect on a deeper question.

When did the worker slowly disappear from the center of our economic imagination?

But first. When was the worker, the foundation?

To understand this shift, it is useful to step back a few decades and revisit a period when the imagination of economic life was shaped very differently and possibly generation X and the early lifes of millennials be able to relate to this better than the Gen Zs.

In the years following the 2nd World War, much of the world consciously attempted to place the worker at the center of society. The devastation left by the war had forced governments to confront a sobering realization. Economic systems that ignored social balance eventually produced instability. Prosperity could not be sustained if large sections of society remained insecure or were excluded from its benefits. Across Europe, Americas and several industrialized nations, this understanding translated into the gradual expansion of welfare institutions. Public healthcare systems began to dominate, education became widely accessible, and universities opened their doors to students from working class families. Labour protections strengthened the bargaining power of workers, ensuring that employment carried with it a measure of dignity and security.

This was not the triumph of ideology in any rigid sense. It was rather, the outcome of a practical social compromise between labour and capital, shaped by the collective memory of economic depression and global conflict. The logic that guided this arrangement was simple and deeply human. A society that takes care of its workers ultimately builds stability for everyone.

Interestingly, independent India carried within it a similar imagination. When the country began its journey in 1947, the project of nation building rested heavily on the idea of collective participation. Public sector enterprises were established not merely as economic institutions but as symbols of national aspiration. Steel plants, railways, telecom, energy companies and manufacturing units were seen as pillars of development that would support the ambitions of a young nation finding its place in the world. Alongside these efforts, institutions of higher learning were created with remarkable foresight. Universities, research centers and institutes of technology emerged with the hope of nurturing intellectual capital for the future. Factories, farms and classrooms together formed the quiet engines of a society attempting to transform itself through work, knowledge and shared effort.

For many families this period created a sense of gradual progress. Work offered stability, education offered mobility, and the promise of a modest but improving life slowly began to take shape. The middle class expanded, aspirations widened, and the idea of nation building acquired a tangible presence in everyday life.

In many ways, the worker stood at the moral center of this system.

The quiet turning of the tide

Yet economic systems rarely remain static. Over time the ideas that shape them evolve, often quietly, and sometimes in ways that alter the very foundations on which they once stood.

By the late twentieth century a new economic philosophy had begun reshaping global thinking. Markets came to be celebrated as the most efficient organizers of human activity, while governments were increasingly encouraged to step back from their earlier role as custodians of social balance. Corporations, in turn, were expected to pursue a singular objective with increasing clarity. That is -

The maximization of shareholder value.

The transformation unfolded gradually, but its consequences were unmistakable. Trade unions that once carried significant influence began to weaken. Long term employment slowly gave way to more flexible, contract driven arrangements. Pension systems that had once guaranteed stability in retirement shifted toward market linked instruments whose fortunes rose and fell with financial cycles. At the same time, wealth began concentrating more visibly at the top of the economic pyramid.

This transformation was not accidental. It emerged from a combination of policy choices, corporate governance frameworks and global capital flows that steadily tilted economic power upward. Yet such a reordering inevitably raised an uncomfortable question. If workers were gradually losing bargaining power while inequality widened, how could the system continue to command public acceptance?

The answer, as it turned out, did not lie in reversing the shift, but in changing the story through which the economy explained itself. Instead of continuing to organize society around the worker, the system gradually began to reorient itself around a different figure altogether. The CONSUMER.

The consumer replaces the worker

The promise that underpinned the economy quietly changed its form. Where earlier decades had emphasized stability through meaningful work and social security, the new narrative began offering something else. Abundance of goods and the freedom of choice. Prosperity was no longer described primarily through the dignity of labour but through the expanding possibilities of consumption.

Over the past three decades this transformation has unfolded across much of the world, and India provides a particularly vivid illustration of the shift. In India too, the economic liberalization of 1991 opened the country to global markets and set in motion a wave of entrepreneurship, innovation and new opportunities. International brands entered Indian cities, shopping malls began to reshape urban landscapes, and digital platforms transformed the way people purchased goods, booked services and consumed entertainment. Gradually, the visible symbol of progress began to change. For millions of people, prosperity was no longer measured by the stability of work alone but by the expanding range of things one could access and own. The variety of goods grew dramatically. Products that once required waiting lists or special connections became easily available. Technology became more affordable. Convenience began to define the rhythm of modern urban life.

On the surface this appeared to be a remarkable achievement, a sign of a society becoming more dynamic, more connected and more prosperous. Yet beneath this abundance something important had quietly shifted. The worker, who had once stood at the center of economic policy and national imagination, was slowly replaced by the consumer as the defining figure of the modern economy.

The psychology of the consumer economy

Consumer societies operate not only through the mechanics of markets but also through the subtler currents of human psychology. Prosperity, after all, is rarely experienced in absolute terms. Most people do not measure their wellbeing by what they possess in isolation. They measure it in relation to what others around them appear to have. Consider, for a moment, a simple thought experiment. Imagine that every individual in society suddenly receives a few crores. At first glance this appears to be the very definition of universal prosperity. Everyone can afford a comfortable home, a reliable car and the basic assurances of a stable life. Yet human behavior rarely remains that simple.

If everyone can afford a good car, the aspiration gradually shifts toward luxury vehicles. If everyone owns a comfortable house, the desire moves toward larger homes in more exclusive neighborhoods. If quality clothing becomes widely accessible, distinction begins to attach itself to designer labels and rare brands. Almost imperceptibly, the search for comfort evolves into a competition for distinction. As this competition intensifies, the economic landscape adjusts around it. Prices rise. Expectations expand. The gap between aspiration and income quietly widens, and into that space enters debt. Housing loans, credit cards and a growing range of consumer financing instruments become the invisible infrastructure sustaining modern lifestyles.

People begin working longer hours to service these commitments. Time grows scarce, stress becomes a constant companion, and the pursuit of status gradually replaces the quieter pursuit of contentment. In this way abundance performs a curious transformation. What begins as shared prosperity slowly reorganizes itself into a new form of scarcity.

The new acceleration in artificial intelligence

And now the economic story appears to be entering yet another phase. Artificial intelligence has arrived with extraordinary promise. Its potential is vast, stretching across fields as varied as medicine, scientific research, logistics and financial systems. Used with wisdom and imagination, it could amplify human capability in ways that earlier generations of technology could scarcely have envisioned, elevating productivity while opening new frontiers of knowledge and innovation.

Yet the dominant conversation surrounding artificial intelligence in many corporate environments often moves along a narrower path. The question most frequently asked is not how technology might empower workers or expand human potential. Instead, the discussion tends to circle around a different possibility altogether. How quickly and effectively technology can reduce the need for human labour.

Across industries, organizations increasingly celebrate efficiency gains achieved through automation. Entire functions are redesigned to operate with minimal human intervention, while investors reward companies that improve margins by steadily lowering their dependence on large workforces. In many boardrooms the equation has quietly become strikingly simple. Technology, combined with cost reduction, is seen as the most direct route to success. Yet this equation carries consequences that extend beyond balance sheets.

When profitability becomes the sole measure of progress, technological innovation begins to reshape the economic landscape in ways that steadily widens the distance between those who control capital and those whose labour becomes increasingly replaceable.

How consumption became control

At this point an uncomfortable idea begins to take shape, one that is not easily expressed without sounding provocative.

Modern consumer society may well represent a form of perfected servitude.

The comparison appears extreme at first, especially when placed alongside the brutal realities of historical slavery. In those earlier systems domination relied on visible force. The chains were physical, the coercion unmistakable, and the injustice impossible to conceal. Whereas Consumer society operates in a very different manner. It speaks the language of freedom. Every purchase appears to express individuality, every brand promises identity, and every advertisement gently persuades us that fulfilment lies just one transaction away. The marketplace presents itself as a theatre of choice where personal liberty seems to flourish without restraint. Yet beneath this surface of abundance lies a more subtle architecture of dependence. Debt quietly binds individuals to continuous work. Competition gradually replaces solidarity, turning neighbors and colleagues into silent rivals in the pursuit of status and recognition. Economic insecurity, instead of being understood as a structural feature of the system, is internalized as a personal shortcoming.

The remarkable feature of this arrangement lies in its invisibility. A person who clearly recognizes oppression may eventually find the courage to resist it. But a person who believes themselves to be entirely free rarely feels the need to question the system in which they participate.

The question before us

And this brings us back to the question that lingered after the meetup. What exactly is the economy meant to serve?

Is it simply a machine designed to maximize efficiency, profitability and technological dominance? Or is it something larger?  A framework through which societies create the conditions for people to live secure, meaningful and dignified lives?

In the decades following independence, India and many other nations leaned towards one answer. Economic thinking focused on building institutions that valued work, stability and collective progress. Employment was not merely an outcome of economic activity. It was one of its central purposes.

The decades that followed globalization introduced a different emphasis. Markets expanded across borders. Consumption flourished. Technological progress accelerated at a remarkable pace. Economic success increasingly came to be measured through growth, scale and market efficiency. Now artificial intelligence stands ready to intensify this trajectory even further. Yet the real challenge before us is not technological. It is philosophical.

Technology itself is neither benevolent nor harmful. Its consequences depend entirely on the values that guide its use. The deeper question therefore becomes whether societies still remember the purpose for which economies were originally created. An economy ultimately exists for people. Workers are not merely inputs into productivity models. Consumers are not merely buyers in a marketplace. They are citizens, creators and participants in the shared life of a society. If technology helps expand human dignity, opportunity and participation, it will rightly be remembered as one of the great advances of our age.

But if prosperity gradually detaches itself from participation, societies may continue to grow richer while becoming, in a quieter and more unsettling way, increasingly hollow.

And perhaps the true measure of progress in the decades ahead will not be how efficiently machines replace human labour. It will be whether we still remember why the worker, and the citizen who is also a consumer, once stood at the very center of the economic story.

It is worth remembering that the thinkers who first shaped modern economics did not see the discipline merely as a science of profit. Economists such as Adam Smith and David Ricardo were preoccupied with deeper questions: how wealth is created, how it is shared and how societies remain stable while pursuing prosperity. Smith wrote not only about markets but also about moral sentiments and the ethical foundations that allow markets to function. Ricardo examined how the gains of economic activity flowed between labour, capital and land. For them, economics was inseparable from society itself. As we stand on the threshold of an age shaped by artificial intelligence, their quiet reminder still echoes across time. An economy is not merely a system for producing wealth, but a framework through which societies choose how prosperity and dignity are shared.